


hand me your virtues

by wolframvonbielefeld (maknaeline)



Series: cloud's giftfics [4]
Category: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 05:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16152956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maknaeline/pseuds/wolframvonbielefeld
Summary: Lan Zhan has pretty hands.





	hand me your virtues

**Author's Note:**

> a generous anon said: "wwx having a thing for lwj’s hands! smut highly encouraged but you do you thx."
> 
> I delivered.

Lan Zhan, of course, is the fairest person in the whole continent, regardless - or perhaps because of - all the scars he carries with him. Wei Ying knows this, and it is somehow what makes him more human, even from a distance, even when he tosses restlessly in his sleep tonight and is temporarily shocked by the beauty that sleeps next to him, long lashes falling on jadelike cheeks. His hands, too, are full of calluses, fingertips permanently scarred and hardened.

 

He remembers the first time he saw him write, pretty fingers tracing the word for love on the page when he had been so, so young, too young to know better when he sat on his sleeve and teased him about things he understood so little. Even then, he had known he wanted to hold his hand, to raise them to his lips in worship.

 

Wei Ying does that now, kissing his knuckles, watching clouds darken and pass over that dear face. He is unsurprised when Lan Zhan’s eyes crack open, eyelashes fluttering wide when he sees his hand next to Wei Ying’s face. He watches with amusement as his husband almost stutters, ears turning a gentle shade of red.

 

“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he says, unrepentant. Lets the blanket fall and deliberately reveal his bare shoulder - he never sleeps in night clothes anymore. “Your hands were too pretty to resist.”

 

Lan Zhan reacts as reasonably as one might expect, which is by dragging a laughing Wei Ying into a long kiss. His hands reach underneath the blanket, wrapping around Wei Ying’s waist and pulling him forward into his embrace. The curtains flutter, and Wei Ying’s heart races as Lan Zhan breaks their kiss, tracing his hands past his waist and hip to his back, moving tenderly against his most private places. These are the same hands that wields Bichen with the expertise of a swordsman experienced beyond his years, the same hands that play the guqin like the bards of old. It is those hands that handle his body like a paper doll, that pull his legs upwards, those musician’s fingers that breach him and play him like a common stringed instrument.

 

He must have said that out loud, because his husband's eyes narrow. “Not common,” Lan Zhan denies, three fingers deep. Wei Ying hides his blush in his shoulder, keening at the touches, at the spiritual energy that flares between them every time they do this now. Their bodies are attuned to each other beyond their years, beyond anything most cultivation partners can do. It is a matter of both pride and extreme annoyance for the Lan clan elders.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he beseeches, “I’m not Wangji, you know? If you keep saying those things -”

 

“Not common at all,” Lan Zhan repeats, and moves one hand to rest on Wei Ying’s face, fingers tracing his kiss-swollen lips. “Precious, beyond measure.”

 

Wei Ying can’t look away, even his back hits the bed, positions reverted. Lan Zhan pulls his fingers out, and Wei Ying throws his head back, gasping when he replaces them with his cock. He avoids the headboard by narrow inches, as Lan Zhan’s hand breaks away from his face to shield him. This is the same hand that held him up by his collar during their encounter with the Waterborne Abyss, the same hand that has saved him from death countless times, even after he came back. The same hand that played for him without expectation of an answer.

 

“Hey, Lan Zhan?” he says. “You know I love your hands, right?”

 

“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, as they both settle into the slow comfort of long, sleepy midnight sex. It’s as good of an admission as he’s ever going to get.

**Author's Note:**

> when Wuxian says "Wangji" he’s technically referring to the guqin, not the person, but also: PUNS.
> 
> leave me prompts if you want more smut (check the link in the series!)


End file.
